Chapter 6 chapter Five

(Oliver meets new colleagues, attends his first funeral, and has some inappropriate thoughts about his master's business.) Oliver was left alone in the coffin-shop, setting his lamp on a work-table, and looking timidly about him with the awe which many a much older person could not help feeling.An unfinished coffin was placed on a dark support in the middle of the shop, and whenever his wandering eyes accidentally fell on this terrible thing and saw it so gloomy and dead, a shiver immediately spread through his body, and he I almost believed that I saw a frightening figure slowly raising his head from the coffin, which drove me crazy.A long row of elm planks cut into the same shape leaned neatly against the wall, and under the dim light, they looked like ghosts with shoulders raised and hands in their trouser pockets.Coffin nameplates, wood shavings, shiny coffin nails, and pieces of black cloth were strewn all over the floor, and the wall behind the counter was decorated with a vivid and colorful painting: two professional undertakers tied around their necks. Wearing a straight bow tie, waiting by the gate of a huge private house, a hearse came from a distance, pulled by four black horses.The shop was hot and humid, and even the air seemed to smell of coffins.Oliver's torn wadding was thrown in a recess under the counter, which looked like a grave.

It wasn't just these depressing feelings that oppressed Oliver.He was all alone, in a strange place, in a situation where, as we all know, even the best of us sometimes feel desolate and lonely.The child has no friend to look after, or, conversely, no friend to look after him.It wasn't that he had just experienced sorrow and hatred, nor did he feel heavy in his heart because he couldn't see the familiar face.Still, he had a heavy heart, and as he retreated into his cramped bunk, he still wished that it was his coffin, and that he could rest peacefully in the churchyard, with the tall weeds overhead. Lightly swaying with the wind, the deep ancient bell rang, comforting myself for a long sleep.

Oliver was awakened early in the morning by a loud knocking on the shop door, and before he had time to dress himself carelessly, the sound was repeated angrily and recklessly about twenty times.When he began to unlatch the door, the kicking ceased, and a voice said: "Open the door, can you open it?" the voice yelled, and it belonged to the same person as the two feet that kicked the door just now. "I'll be right there, sir," replied Oliver, untying the chain, and turning the key. "You're probably the new chap, aren't you?" said the voice through the keyhole.

"Yes, sir." "How old are you?" the voice asked. "Sir, I am ten years old." "Hmph, I'm going to beat you when I come in," said the voice, "and see if I can beat you, you little yellow-haired boy from the workhouse." The voice made this gracious promise, He whistled. For Oliver, "beat" is a very expressive word. He has experienced this process countless times, so he does not take any chances. No matter who he is, the owner of that voice must be extremely respectable anyway. fulfilling the promise.With a trembling hand Oliver knocked down the latch, and opened the shop door.

Oliver looked up and down the street, and then across the street, thinking that the stranger with whom he had been greeted through the keyhole just now had gone away in order to warm himself, for he saw no one else, All I saw was a large charity school boy, sitting on a stake in front of the shop, eating a piece of bread and butter.The big man cut the bread into wedges about the size of his mouth with a jackknife, and dropped it all in with extraordinary deftness. "Excuse me, sir," said Oliver at last, when no other visitor appeared, "is it you who knock?" "I kicked it." The charity school student replied.

"Would you like to buy a coffin, sir?" asked Oliver innocently. Upon hearing this, the pupil of the charity school put on a ghastly countenance, and declared that if Oliver joked with his superiors in this manner, it would not be long before he needed a coffin. "As I see it, poorhouse, you don't know who I am, do you?" the charity school student continued with an air of instructing others as he got off the stake. "Yes, sir," replied Oliver. "I am Mr. Noah Claypole," said he, "and you are in my charge, and let down the shutter, you lazy little rascal." And so Mr. Claypole rewarded Oliver. With one kick, he walked into the shop with a pompous attitude, which did him a lot of honor.It is not an easy task under any circumstances to make a hulking, dull-faced, squirrel-eyed lad look impressive, not to mention adding to his personal dignity a red nose and a pair of yellow shorts. .

Oliver took down one of the heavy shutters, and carried them unsteadily to a small patio at the side of the house, where these things had been kept during the day, but he broke a pane of glass as soon as he moved the first one.Noah first comforted him and assured him that "he has something to look at", then put down his airs and helped him.Presently Mr. Sowerberry came downstairs, followed by Mrs. Sowerberry.Sure enough, Oliver "has a good look" and fulfilled Noah's prophecy, and then went downstairs to have breakfast with the young gentleman. "Come closer to the fire, Noah," said Charlotte. "I've saved a little piece of bacon from the boss's breakfast for you. Oliver, shut the door behind Mr. Noah. Your meal I'm on the lid of the loaf pan, go get it yourself, here's your tea, take it to the case, and drink it there, hurry up, they want you to tidy up the shop. Do you hear me?"

"You hear that, the workhouse?" said Noah Claypole. "Well, Noah," said Charlotte, turning away, "you're a queer fellow. What do you care about him?" "Why?" Noah said, "Well, because everyone is left to him, and it's not okay here. Neither his father nor his mother will bother him. All his relatives are left to him. Oh. , Charlotte. Hee hee hee!" "Oh, you queer man!" laughed Charlotte, and Noah followed, and when they had had their fill, they cast another haughty look at Oliver, who was at the moment furthest from the fire. In the corner of the room, he sat tremblingly on a box, eating the stinky food specially left for him.

Noah is a student in a charity school, not an orphan in a workhouse.He is not an illegitimate child, and the family tree can be traced back to his parents who were in poor circumstances. His mother washed clothes for others, and his father was a soldier who was often drunk. When he was discharged from the army, he brought back a wooden leg and a pension. For twopence-and-a-halfpence a day, with a very hard-to-determined mantissa.Apprentices from nearby shops always like to mock Noah on the street with some ugly nicknames, such as "lederhosen", "charity school" and so on. Counter-offer.Well now, fate gave him an orphan who didn't even have a name, and even the humblest people could point their noses at this orphan, and Noah did the same to Oliver with great interest.It is a curious incident, which shows us how wonderful is human nature, that the same good qualities are never favored by one another, and that the same good qualities can be developed in the best gentleman as well as in the meanest charity school student.

Oliver had been staying some months at the undertaker's shop.After closing that day, Mr. and Mrs. Sowerberry were having dinner in the small lounge at the back of the shop. Mr. Sowerberry looked at his wife respectfully, and said: "My dear—" he was about to continue, but when his wife rolled her eyes upwards, she knew that the omen was not right, so she stopped quickly. "Why," snapped Mrs. Sowerberry. "Nothing, my dear, nothing," said Mr. Sowerberry. "Well, you dreadful thing," said Mrs. Sowerberry. "Where, where, my dear," said Mr. Sowerberry in a low voice, "I thought you would not like to hear it, my dear. I just wanted to say--"

"Well, don't tell me anything you want to say," interrupted Mrs. Sowerberry. "I'm old. Please, don't ask me. I don't want to meddle in your secrets." Sowerberry When the wife said this, there was a burst of hysterical laughter, which foreshadowed that the consequences would be very serious. "But, my dear," said Sowerberry, "I want to ask you for advice." "No, no, you don't need to ask my opinion," Mrs. Sowerbury was very emotional, "you ask someone else." There was another burst of hysterical laughter, and Sowerberry was frightened half to death.This is a very common and generally accepted procedure between couples, and it usually works.Mr. Sowerberry immediately begged his pardon, and begged his wife's special permission to speak, which Mrs. Sowerberry really wanted to hear.After a tug-of-war of less than three quarters of an hour, the wife finally showed mercy and approved it. "It's about little Twist, my dear," said Mr. Sowerberry. "He's a pretty little boy, my dear." "He should be like this, he is full after eating and drinking." The wife thinks so. "He has a sad look on his face, my dear," continued Mr. Sowerberry. "It's very amusing, and he would make an excellent undertaker, my dear." Mrs. Sowerberry rolled her eyes skyward, evidently in surprise, and Mr. Sowerberry noticed this, and went on without giving the virtuous lady an opportunity to interrupt. "My dear, I don't mean ordinary undertakers who attend adult funerals, but only for children's funerals. Letting children carry funerals for children, my dear, that's so new. Don't worry, it will work well. .” Mrs. Sowerberry, who had a good taste for funerals, was surprised at this novel idea.However, it would be unseemly to admit it directly, and now that the matter had come to an end, she could only ask very sternly, why hadn't he, a husband, thought of such a simple suggestion beforehand?Mr. Sowerberry came along, taking it as an acquiescence to his idea.It was decided on the spot that the secrets of this trade should be imparted to Oliver immediately. For this purpose, Oliver had to go with the boss next time he went out to discuss business. The opportunity presently presented itself, when Mr. Bumble entered the shop early next morning, about half an hour after breakfast.He propped his cane on the counter, took out his large leather case, and from it took out a slip of paper, which he handed to Sowerberry. "Aha," said Mr. Sowerbury, smiling, and glancing at the paper, "order a coffin, eh?" "A coffin first, and a funeral afterward, at the diocese's expense," replied Mr. Bumble, tightening the straps of his wallet, which was as bulging as the rest. "Baden," said the undertaker, looking from the paper to Mr. Bumble, "I've never heard of that name." Bumble shook his head, and replied: "A difficult fellow, Mr. Sowerberry, very, very stubborn. I'm afraid it's too flattering, man." "Proud, huh?" Sowerberry said loudly with a sneer. "Really, this is too much." "Oh, yes, it's disgusting," replied the rector. "Very poor, Mr. Sowerberry." ① Bumble originally wanted to say "antinomian" (antinomian, opposed to obeying the moral law), but it was confused with the word "antimonial". "That's what it is," agreed the undertaker. "We only heard about the family the night before yesterday," said the rector. "We didn't know what happened to them. A woman who lived in the same house approached the parish council and asked that the parish doctor be sent to see that there was A woman was very ill. The doctor went out to dinner, and his apprentice (a very clever fellow) sent them the medicine in a bottle of shoe polish." "Oh, that's pretty neat," said the undertaker. "It's neat," replied the steward, "but it turned out, man, these guys are really wrong, you know how ungrateful they are? Well, the man came back and said that the medicine didn't work with his wife's illness, So she can't take it--he says no, sir. A potent and hygienic medicine, which two Irish workmen and a coal-carrier took it a week ago, and it works just fine--is given away for free, without taking a cent, outsiders Bring a bottle of shoe polish—dude, he says she can't drink it back." This heinous deed was vividly displayed in Mr. Bumble's mind, and he flushed with anger, and beat the counter with his cane fiercely. "Yo," said the undertaker, "I never--n--" "Never, sir," roared the rector. "That's unheard of. Oh, but now she's dead, and we've got to bury her. Here's the address. The sooner it's over, the better." Mr. Bumble, feeling aggrieved for the parish, nearly put his three-cornered hat on backwards in a fit of rage, and stepped out of the shop. "Why, Oliver, he's been in such a rage that he forgot to ask about you," said Sowerbury, watching the rector stride up the street. "Yes, sir," replied Oliver.He had kept his distance carefully during Bumble's visit, and trembled from head to toe when he recognized Mr. Bumble's voice.In days to come, he did not need to contrive to avoid Mr. Bumble's sight.The public servant, who had always taken to heart the prophecy of the gentleman in the white vest, believed that since the undertaker was on trial, Oliver's condition might as well not be mentioned until a seven-year contract locked him in, and he was All danger of returning to the diocese can be removed once and for all, legitimately and legitimately. "Well," said Mr. Sowerbury, taking up his hat, "the sooner this business is done the better. Noah, keep the shop. Oliver, put your hat on, and come with me." Oliver Foo obeyed his orders and went out to do business with his master. They passed through the most densely populated residential area of ​​the city, walked for a while, then quickened their pace, and came to a street that was dirtier, dilapidated, and narrower than the place they had passed before. Line the house where the target lives.The houses on both sides of the street are tall and big, but they are very old; the residents are all from the poor class. You don’t need to look at the faces of the few men and women you meet occasionally, just look at the dilapidated appearance of these houses. at this point.Pedestrians folded their arms, hunched over, and walked evasively.Most of the houses are paved, but they are tightly closed and run-down, and only the upper floors are used for occupancy.Some houses were in disrepair for a long time, and they were about to collapse on the street, so a few large logs were used to support the wall at one end, and the other end was firmly inserted into the road.Even these kennels, which are nothing more than pigpens, seem to have been chosen by some wretched homeless as a nest for the night, for many of the rough boards nailed to the doors and windows have been pried open, leaving gaps Enough to get one person in and out.The gutters were clogged and foul-smelling, and there were rotting rats here and there, and even they looked horribly hungry. The house which Oliver and his employer were looking for arrived, with its door open, without knocker or bell-handle.The boss told Oliver to follow, not to be afraid of anything, and he groped carefully through the dark corridor and climbed up to the second floor.He staggered into a door at the foot of the stairs, and knocked on it with his knuckles. It was a thirteen or fourteen-year-old girl who opened the door.The undertaker, seeing the furnishings in the room, knew that this was exactly the place he was looking for, so he went in, and Oliver followed. There was no fire in the house, but a man was huddled motionless by the empty stove, and an old woman had placed a low stool in front of the cold stove beside him.In another corner of the room were some children in rags.Something, covered by a blanket, stood in a small alcove directly opposite the door.Oliver's eyes fell upon it, and he began to shudder, and involuntarily drew himself closer to his master, and, though covered with blankets, the boy was aware that it was a corpse. The man's face was thin and pale, his hair and beard had turned gray, and his eyes were bloodshot.The old woman's face was wrinkled, her only two teeth protruded, blocking her lower lip, and her eyes were piercing.Oliver was too frightened to lift his head, for the two men looked so much like the rats he had seen outside the house. "No one is allowed to come near her," said the undertaker, who was about to walk towards the alcove when the man jumped up. "Don't go. Damn—you're going to stay alive, don't go." "Don't talk nonsense, man," said the undertaker, accustomed to all sorts of bleak things, "don't talk nonsense." "I'm telling you," the man clenched his fists and stamped his feet on the floor furiously—"I'm telling you, I can't enlist her, she won't find peace there, maggots will bother her— — instead of eating her — she's hollow." The boss ignored the rant, took a pair of measuring tapes from his pocket, knelt down, and measured for a while beside the body. "Ah." The man knelt down at the feet of the deceased, tears pouring out. "Kneel down, kneel down--kneel down by her, all of you. Listen. I said she starved. I had no idea how bad she was until she got a fever this time. , and her skin could no longer cover her bones. There was no fire or candle in the house, and she died in the dark—in the dark. Though we could hear her panting and calling the children name, but she can't even see the faces of the children. For her, I went to the street to beg for food, but they threw me in jail. When I came back, she was dead, and all the blood in my heart was dry. It was them Starved her to death. I swear to God, God saw it all. They starved her to death." He stretched out his hands and grabbed his hair, and with a wild scream, he hit the floor. Rolling up, his eyes were staring, and his lips were covered with saliva. The children were frightened out of their wits and cried loudly.Only the old woman seemed to be deaf to all this and kept silent. She threatened them to be quiet, loosened the tie of the man who had fallen straight on the ground, and then staggered towards the undertaker. "She's my daughter," said the old woman, throwing her head at the corpse, squinting like an idiot, and on that occasion the gesture was even more terrifying than death itself. "Dear, dear. Why, it's strange that I had her when I wasn't young, and I'm alive and happy now, and she's lying there, cold and hard. God , my God—think about it. It's like a play—it's like a play." The poor old man babbled and giggled with her creepy humor, and the coffin shopkeeper turned away. "Wait, wait," said the old woman loudly, a little to herself, "is she buried tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, or tonight? Go. Send me a big cloak to keep me warm, it's so cold. We've got to have some bread and wine before we go. Don't be mean, bring some bread— ——As long as a piece of bread and a glass of water are enough, we will have bread, dear, won’t we?” She said eagerly, and the funeral director wanted to go out again, but she grabbed the coat. "Yes, yes," said the undertaker, "of course there will be. You have everything you want." He broke free from the old woman's grip, led Oliver, and hurried away. On the next day (the family had already received an alms of half a four-pound loaf and a loaf of cheese, delivered by Mr. Bumble himself), Oliver and his master came again to the mourning house.Bumble had arrived first, with four men from the workhouse, to carry the coffin.The old woman and the man wore an old black cloak over their ragged clothes, and the bare white wooden coffin was screwed up, and the four porters put it on their shoulders and walked down the street. "Hey, old lady, you've got to go." Sowerberry whispered close to the old woman's ear. "We're a bit late, and it's not good to keep the priest waiting. Come on, boys—" — go as fast as you can.” The porter didn't carry much weight on his shoulders, so when he heard this, he ran quickly, and the two funeral relatives tried their best not to fall behind.Mr. Bumble and Sowerbury strode ahead, and Oliver, whose legs were no match for his master's, had to run by. However, the situation was not what Mr. Sowerbury expected, and there was no need for them to be in such haste.The vicar was not there when they came to a quiet corner of the churchyard, where the parishioners' graves were built, and where the hemp grew.The clerk, who was sitting warming the fire in the funerary-chamber, seemed to think that the vicar would not be in for an hour.So they put the coffin beside the grave.A cold drizzle fell from the sky.The sight drew a group of ragged children, who played noisily at hide-and-seek among the tombstones, and then, in a change of interest, jumped up and down on top of the coffin.The two relatives waited patiently.Mr. Sowerberry and Bumble, who had a personal acquaintance with the clerk, sat with him by the fire and read the papers. After more than an hour, Mr. Bumble, Sowerberry, and the clerk finally ran towards the cemetery together, and then the priest appeared, wearing white sacrificial robes as he walked.Mr. Bumble maintained the scene by flicking his cane and driving a child or two away.That formidable gentleman compressed the funeral as best he could, and delivered his sermon in less than four minutes.He handed over the sacrificial clothes to the clerk and walked away again. "Now, Bill," said Sowerberry to the gravedigger, "fill it in." It was not difficult to fill the grave, the grave was so full that the top of the coffin was only a few feet from the ground.The gravedigger shoveled the dirt in, stamped his feet a few times, picked up the shovel and left, followed by the group of children, who complained chirping that the game was over too soon. "Squeak, man," said Bumble, patting the widower on the back, "they're closing the graveyard." The man had been standing by the tomb since he came here, without moving his place. At this moment, he was taken aback for a moment, raised his head, stared intently at the person who greeted him, took a few steps forward, and then passed out. on the ground.The mad old woman was too sorry for the loss of the cloak (which had been repossessed by the coffin shopkeeper) to think of him.So they poured a can of cold water on him.After he woke up and sent him out of the churchyard safely, he locked the gate and dispersed. "Well, Oliver," asked Master Sowerberry, on the way back, "do you like this business?" "Well, sir, thank you," replied Oliver, rather hesitantly, "not particularly fond of it, sir." "Oh, Oliver, you'll get used to it sooner or later," said Sowerberry. "When you get used to it, you'll be all right, my boy." Oliver was full of suspicions, and wondered whether it had taken Mr. Sowerberry a long time to get used to it.However, he thought it best not to inquire about the question.On the way back to the funeral home, he kept trying to figure out what he had seen and heard.